


Little Earthquakes

by fictionalaspect



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: First Time, Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-03
Updated: 2010-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 21:45:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan tumbles into the room, landing on his knees and elbows on the carpet. He inhales heavily for a moment, and then winces as he sits back on his heels. "Sorry," he whispers, too-loud and fake-subtle. He pushes his bangs out of his eyes with one hand. "I tripped as I was climbing in. I thought I was going to fall off the roof."</p><p>"Yeah," Spencer says faintly. He doesn't know what else to say. He's still--it's still <em>inside</em> him, the flared base preventing it from sliding in all the way. Spencer swallows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Earthquakes

**Author's Note:**

> This was not intended to be overstimulation porn, but can be read as such. Thank you to [](http://desafinado.livejournal.com/profile)[**desafinado**](http://desafinado.livejournal.com/) and [Stele](http://stele3.insanejournal.com/) for two amazing, super-helpful and lightening-quick betas. This is unabashedly cliche. You have been warned.

  
In about forty-five seconds, Spencer is going to come.

He can feel the way his legs are tightening up, the strain in his lower back and in his wrist from holding the--god, he can't even think about it. His blood is rushing hot underneath his skin, and Spencer tilts his head back, groaning. He didn't know it would be like this. He hadn't even really let himself think about it, hiding the package under his bed until he could hold it in his hands without blushing and now Spencer's just--

God, he's so full.

(The slide of the toy inside him is thick and deep, so much better than fingers. He can feel every inch of it, warm from the heat of his body, and when he pushes it back inside he has to grab the base of his dick and squeeze to keep from coming.)

Spencer closes his eyes and licks his lips. His mouth is dry. He's wound so tightly he knows he's going to be feeling this for days, in his back and legs and ass. There's a slow, steady burn building up deep inside, and Spencer wants it. He fucking wants it, and yeah, okay, if he'd had any doubts, this is putting them to rest.

Spencer braces his heels against the mattress and tilts his hips up and thinks about how good this could be, if.

If it wasn't just him in the bed, if there was someone else behind the pressure, easing him into it, setting the pace--

There's a bang from his window.

There's a bang, and then a yelp, and then Spencer is tugging the comforter up so fast it feels like he pulled a muscle. Panic squeezes low and tight in his ribcage. Spencer can't breathe. Everything is shaky around the edges.

Ryan tumbles into the room, landing on his knees and elbows on the carpet. He inhales heavily for a moment, and then winces as he sits back on his heels. "Sorry," he whispers, too-loud and fake-subtle. He pushes his bangs out of his eyes with one hand. "I tripped as I was climbing in. I thought I was going to fall off the roof."

"Yeah," Spencer says faintly. He doesn't know what else to say. He's still--it's still _inside_ him, the flared base preventing it from sliding in all the way. Spencer swallows. Thank god for his comforter, which is large and puffy and covering up his hard-on. Maybe Ryan won't look too closely at his face. Maybe he'll go to the bathroom, and then Spencer can take it out and hide it somewhere, anywhere, oh god--

Ryan nods, and then pauses, frowning like he just realized something important. "Wait," he says. "Wait, why are you awake?"

"No reason," Spencer replies faintly, tugging the comforter up higher.

"Why are all the lights off?" Ryan says. "I thought you were sleeping."

"Uh, you fell through my window," Spencer says, trying to will the flush off his cheeks. Thank god it's so dark inside his room. "I woke up."

"Oh, right," Ryan whispers back. "Sorry." He reaches over and fumbles at the bedside table, turning on the tiny light with a click. It's plastic and shaped like a Koopa and doesn't really provide much actual light, but Spencer hasn't gotten around to buying a replacement yet.

"Yeah," Spencer says. His hands are shaking, where they're clenched tightly around the comforter. He's trying to stay absolutely still, but every time Spencer shifts he can _feel_ it, tiny sparks of lightning running up and down his spine. Ryan just sort of stares at him for a minute, and Spencer tries to breathe evenly and deeply.

In, and out. Breathe. In, and out, and oh, god--

"Are you okay?" Ryan whispers, peering at him in the half-light. He sounds confused.

"Fine," Spencer grits out. "Ryan, seriously--"

"You look sick or something," Ryan says. He's frowning, like the prospect of Spencer being sick is a confusing and unnatural turn of events. "You're all flushed and sweaty. Shit, do you have a fever?"

"No, I--" Spencer says, and then Ryan is kicking his shoes off and sliding under the covers, pressing one cool hand to Spencer's forehead. Spencer tries to jerk away, but he's too late; Ryan draws his hand away with a mournful expression.

"You definitely have a fever," Ryan whispers, concerned. "You're all hot. Dude, should I get your mom?"

Spencer's "No!" explodes from his throat with far more force than he intended. Ryan widens his eyes and leans back a little. He blinks at Spencer.

"Um, okay?" Ryan says.

"I just--I'm fine," Spencer grits out. He wants nothing more than to close his eyes, to will Ryan away with the force of his mind. "Please, just, just leave me alone, or something--"

"Oh my god, you're delirious," Ryan says. "Holy crap, I didn't know that actually happened."

"I--what?" Spencer says.

"Spencer, it's me," Ryan says, all concerned features and wide eyes, and Spencer is seriously going to punch him as soon as he can move without the very real danger of coming. "It's Ryan, your best friend? You've never told me to go away, even when I broke your skateboard. Remember?"

"Yeah, well," Spencer mumbles weakly, turning and pressing his face into the pillow. "People change."

"Not this much," Ryan says firmly, pressing one hand back to Spencer's forehead. He moves closer, and Spencer tries to shift away, but he's almost falling off the side of the bed and there's really nowhere else for him to go. "I'm going to go get your mom," Ryan says firmly. "She'll know how to fix this, she'll--"

He breaks off in the middle of his sentence, just as Ryan's leg brushes Spencer's upper thigh. It's a brief contact, skin on denim, the sort of thing that would be no big deal, except for right now.

Spencer presses his face further into the pillow; there's a horrible, sinking feeling in his stomach. He can't bear to look up and see Ryan's expression.

"Spencer?" Ryan whispers weakly, after a long moment where there's just a dead silence. Spencer shakes his head into the pillow, refusing both Ryan's questions and the verbal admission of his guilt. He is not talking about this. He isn't. And if it makes Ryan run away in horror, well. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

"You were--oh," Ryan says quietly, after a few moments have passed with just the quiet clicking of Spencer's clock to pass the time. "Um--"

"Yes," Spencer mumbles, when he can't take it anymore. "I was. So Ryan seriously, for the love of god, _go away_."

Ryan sucks in a breath. Spencer tries to stay very, very still--_no sudden movements_, he thinks, mildly hysterically--and that's when he feels the gentle press of Ryan's knee sliding against his skin.

"What," Spencer says, jerking his head up from the pillow. "Ryan, what are you doing?"

"Uh," Ryan says weakly. He presses a little closer. Spencer jerks and tries to move away, but his limbs are heavy and uncoordinated and the most he can manage is a sort of awkward backwards shuffling. He ends up on his side, facing Ryan, just as Ryan carefully inches his knee in between Spencer's legs. Spencer has to bite his lip against the sudden friction. Ryan's leg is warm, and the denim of his jeans is soft, just on this side of chafing. It feels good, and it takes everything in Spencer not to roll his hips forward against the sudden pressure. "I'm helping?"

"Ryan," Spencer hisses. "This is not a two-person operation, what the fuck."

"Yeah," Ryan says. He bites his lip, and then Spencer can feel the subtle movement of Ryan's thigh, two inches from the base of the toy. If he moves any closer, he's going to--_fuck_. Spencer tries to breathe.

"It, uh. It could be?" Ryan says, after a moment.

"Okay, no," Spencer says, and grabs onto the closest part of Ryan, which happens to be his hip. He means to forestall any further movements, but his fingers brush against bare skin, sliding under the thin cotton of Ryan's t-shirt. Ryan shudders, and Spencer's fingers tighten without his permission.

"Spencer," Ryan murmurs brokenly, and then he's leaning in, pushing himself fully into Spencer's space. Spencer's mouth drops open at the feeling, and that's when Ryan kisses him, wet and eager.

It's almost a little too much. Spencer's skin feels like it's tingling, like every single nerve in his body is suddenly demanding his attention. The fabric of Ryan's T-shirt is even softer against his skin than his jeans, and his arms around Spencer's waist are warm.

Ryan makes a soft noise and slides his hand to Spencer's hip, fingers grabbing at him clumsily, and Spencer's brain abruptly remembers all the reasons this is a terrible fucking idea.

"Wait," Spencer says, pulling back. His voice comes out high and breathless. "Wait, what? Ryan, the fuck?"

"You're," Ryan mumbles, and leans in again, chasing Spencer's mouth. His fingers are so long that the tips are just barely brushing at the hollow of Spencer's back, even with his palm wrapped around Spencer's hip.

"That's not a sentence," Spencer points out, trying to shift away from Ryan's hands. "You're not even--"

"No, I--" Ryan says, and then kisses him again, biting at Spencer's lower lip and pressing his thigh directly in between Spencer's legs.

Spencer jerks at the pressure. His mouth falls open. "Spence," Ryan whispers helplessly. "I'm sorry, fuck, I'm not trying to, you're just so--I wanted--"

"So go--jerk off--somewhere else," Spencer pants out. God, it feels so good, the way Ryan's rubbing at him slowly, but every time Spencer pushes his hips forward he's reminded of the feeling of fullness between his legs, of all the reasons why they can't do this.

"Please," Ryan mumbles, his eyelashes flickering down to where they're pressed up against one another under the covers. "I'll jerk you off, come on, you don't even have to--"

Spencer sucks in a breath at the thought of it, of Ryan's fingers wrapped around him. "But you don't," Spencer says weakly, giving up all pretense of trying to fight it. He can feel a thick red blush rising on his cheeks, but maybe if Ryan doesn't--maybe if he only jerks him off--he'll never know--

"You don't even like guys," Spencer says, all in a rush, as Ryan's fingers slide back down his hip.

"That's still up for debate," Ryan whispers. His eyes are large and dark in the half-light, and his hair is a mess against Spencer's pillow.

"God, I hate you so much," Spencer mumbles out, in between kisses. Ryan has one hand on his jawline; every time they pull back to breathe, Spencer can feel the soft puffs of air from Ryan's mouth on his lips.

"Is that a yes?" Ryan pants out, and uses his thigh to grind up against Spencer more firmly. He's definitely hard against Spencer's stomach.

"Yeah," Spencer says. Every time Ryan rolls his hips, his spine tightens up a little more; he can feel it in his legs, in his ass, everywhere they're touching. His brain is all fuzzy, and it's making him careless.

"Okay," Ryan says, "Okay, awesome--"

"Ryan," Spencer says, gritting his teeth. "Less talking, more action."

"Working on it," Ryan says, and that's when his right leg slides against the sheets. It forces his left leg farther between Spencer's legs, pressed right up against the base of the toy.

Spencer chokes on thin air. Ryan's eyes widen, his mouth dropping open in surprise, and all of the fear and humiliation of the past hour comes rushing back to Spencer in one stomach-dropping moment. But he can't seem to actually _speak_\--god knows what he would fucking say--because Ryan's thigh is seriously pressed right up against the base, pushing it deeper.

Oh, oh god.

"Holy shit," Ryan whispers. "Spencer, you--" He shifts a little, a different angle of pressure against the base, and Spencer has to bite down on the fabric of his pillow to keep from letting out a whine.

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut. He can feel tears forming in the corners. "Shut up," Spencer says, his voice barely more than a whisper. He's not going to cry in front of Ryan. He _isn't_.

"_Spence_," Ryan breathes, and then he's shoving himself on top of Spencer, all clumsy legs and elbows. Spencer's too shocked to do anything. Ryan's licking into his mouth, firm and insistent, and his hands are tight on Spencer's hips. He has one knee tucked up between Spencer's legs, right against the base, and when that knee slips a little Spencer hears himself let out a whine.

"Tell me," Ryan mumbles, and his voice sounds strange and breathless against Spencer's lips. "Tell me what it feels like."

"What?" Spencer says, frowning and pulling back a little. He watches as Ryan's eyes dart down to his lips, and Spencer licks them automatically in response. Ryan raises his eyes to Spencer's, and then slowly shifts his knee in tighter, careful and slow. Spencer's back arches; he can feel his mouth dropping open at the sensation.

"You like that," Ryan says, and there's an odd cadence to his voice, one that Spencer can't quite place. Ryan inches back, just a little, and Spencer drags in air through his teeth. Everything in his body is on fire. He's been so close for so long, inching towards the edge and then recoiling back. His skin feels itchy. He can smell Ryan's sweat, how he's sharp and slightly musky, and his skin is so fucking soft under Spencer's fingers, and--

\--Spencer thinks _fuck it_ and makes his decision.

"Okay," Spencer bites out. "Okay, more, fuck. Ryan. Ryan, please, come on--"

"Tell me," Ryan says, in that same strange voice again. He presses his knee up, and Spencer feels it again, that slow, smooth slide. Spencer whines and then Ryan's mouth is hot against the side of his neck, teeth biting into the tender skin.

He's making tiny noises, soft and breathless. He pulls back and digs his fingers into Spencer's hips, pulling Spencer down more firmly onto his thigh, and in that moment Spencer recognizes his expression. It's Ryan's own fucked up version of awe, when he's fascinated by something, overwhelmed with it, but he can't quite verbalize enough to say so. Spencer groans and tilts his head back, rolling his hips against the pressure. Ryan's never--he's never looked at Spencer like that. Spencer didn't know he wanted Ryan to look at him like that.

"Feels good," Spencer says, a little brokenly. He wants to say that it feels amazing, that it feels like Ryan is fucking him, deep and slow, but the words won't come.

"Just good?" Ryan says. He curls his hand around Spencer's cock, swiping his thumb over the head, and Spencer bucks up with a cry. He's so sensitive that it almost hurts, but below the discomfort there's a thread of bright hot pleasure, increasingly urgent.

"It's--fuck," Spencer moans. He can't _think_ like this. "Just--just keep--yes, god, there, Ryan, don't move, don't--" It's like Spencer can hear himself babbling from far away, but he can't quite control it. He can feel Ryan's hand around his cock, slick and careful; the slow, coiling pressure traveling up his spine; the strange sensation of Ryan's clothing against his bare skin. Spencer's holding himself there, pulled up tight and endless and so, so ready for it, when he feels Ryan's fingers brushing against the base of the toy. Ryan's mouth is open and he's panting, staring down at Spencer with that same mixture of confusion and awe. He strokes around the base of the toy, hot fingers pressed up against sensitive skin, and Spencer bucks up into Ryan's fist as he comes.

When he's finally back from seeking out the boundaries of the universe, his vision still sparkles around the edges.

"Spencer," Ryan says, and his voice is low and thick, curling around the fricatives. "Spencer, Spencer, fuck, you--"

"Ahh," Spencer says, another tiny aftershock twitching through his veins as Ryan shifts his hand away from the base of the toy. Spencer's beyond caring; he's starting to get uncomfortable, and after what Ryan's seen, well. He reaches down and carefully draws the toy out, fumbling on the side of the bed for the case. Spencer doesn't think it's even remotely sexy, but Ryan's biting his lip as he watches, and as soon as Spencer flops back Ryan's mouth is hot and demanding on his own. It's a race to see whose hands actually get the privilege of divesting Ryan of his jeans. Spencer's floating in a haze, and he wants Ryan there, too.

There's lube tangled up somewhere in the sheets, but Spencer can't be bothered. He spits on his hand and then swipes his palm across the head of Ryan's cock; Ryan bucks forward, one fist still skimming over the length. Spencer rubs underneath the head, around the base, anywhere he can get his hands on. Distantly, he feels kind of stupid--hand-jobs aren't normally a two person operation--but Ryan's panting into his mouth, so it must be working. Spencer can't help that he's so skin-hungry. He wants to crawl inside Ryan and never come out.

"Spence," Ryan mumbles out, "Spence, please, you still didn't tell me."

"Tell you what," Spencer says, still biting at Ryan's bottom lip, because it's there and he can.

"What it feels like," Ryan gasps out. "I wanted to--fuck, I wasn't just trying to, to. I want to _know_."

Spencer freezes for a moment, one hand still gently massaging the head of Ryan's cock as Ryan thrusts up into his grip. A shiver goes through him, one that has absolutely nothing to do with the temperature in the room. Spencer takes a deep breath and then tucks his face into the crook of Ryan's shoulder, because he's not sure he can say it any louder than a whisper.

"Ry," Spencer says, so quiet, so soft. "Ry, you've wanted to--?"

"Yes," Ryan gasps out. "What, fuck, are you dense?"

"It's so full," Spencer says softly, after briefly considering telling Ryan he's a dicksmack. He's pretty sure the name-calling can come later. "You're just--full up, and it's deep, and it feels like nothing else, fuck, it's so good--"

Ryan comes with a whine, all over Spencer's stomach. Spencer blinks for a moment. Ryan's shaking in his arms; Spencer was only being honest.

"Fuck," Ryan says, weakly. "I lied. You're not--Next time I'm taping your mouth shut. _Jesus_, Spencer."

"You asked me like, six times," Spencer says, watching raptly as the blush on Ryan's cheeks starts to fade. He's flushed all over; his eyes are bright even in the semi-darkness. "You're an ungrateful little bitch, you know that."

"Mmmph," Ryan says. He sits back and makes a face; they're stuck together, and it's a little gross. "Do you have any, uh--"

"Yeah," Spencer says, and swipes his hand towards the nightstand. He catches the tissue box with the tips of his fingers; it hovers for a moment, and then goes crashing to the ground with a soft _thunk_. "Damn it."

"I got it," Ryan says. He leans over the side of the bed, and comes back with a large handful. He starts swiping at his stomach and then moves on to Spencer. Spencer shifts uncomfortably. He'd been planning on cleaning himself up; he kind of wants to push Ryan away, but Ryan's sitting on his thighs. He bats at Ryan's hand, instead, but Ryan ignores him.

"I'm not done," Ryan mutters, "Calm down, jesus."

"I just--okay," Spencer says, in a small voice. His stomach feels weird, all of a sudden, and not just because it's still slightly damp. He doesn't know what to do with his hands.

Ryan tosses the tissues in the corner. Spencer makes an injured noise, and tries to shove Ryan off.

"That's disgusting," Spencer says, a little hysterically. He wants to get up and throw them away, because he's not sure he can handle doing it in the morning. It's not even that gross, it's just--it's evidence, and maybe Spencer isn't quite ready to face that just yet.

"Your face is disgusting," Ryan says. He looks at Spencer for a long moment, and then says, "Shove over."

"What?"

"Just--come on, Spencer, make some room," Ryan mumbles. He's stripping off his t-shirt with a practiced motion, even as he fumbles around on top of the covers for his boxers.

"I need underwear," Spencer says.

"So go get some," Ryan says. He tugs the covers out from underneath him, trying to wiggle his way into Spencer's space. Spencer doesn't want to get up and walk across the room to dig in his drawers--which is stupid, because Ryan has _obviously_ seen him naked--but he also doesn't want his mom coming in to find him naked in the morning. He doesn't know what to do.

"Are you--you're freaking out, aren't you," Ryan says, once he's settled. Spencer tries to breathe deeply and evenly. It doesn't work, because his voice still squeaks a little when he says, "No, shut up."

"You're totally freaking out," Ryan says. "Should I go get you some boxers?"

"No," Spencer mumbles. "Yes. Maybe. I don't know."

Ryan, to his credit, doesn't roll his eyes at Spencer. He just sighs a little, and then stumbles across the room to Spencer's dresser, digging around in the top drawer until he finds something vaguely boxer-like. "Here," he says, handing it over once he's standing next to the bed again.

"Thanks," Spencer says. He pulls them under the covers and slips them on, and while he doesn't feel entirely normal, something settles a little in his stomach.

"Okay?" Ryan says, and then slides back under the covers. "Uh. This is cool, right?"

"What's cool?" Spencer says quickly. "The me thing? Or the you thing? Or the--"

"I meant me sleeping here," Ryan says. He's smiling slightly. "But, uh. Yeah. Yes to all of the above, I guess."

"You guess," Spencer says uncertainly.

"Yeah," Ryan says. He reaches over and turns off the light, and then inches over to Spencer's side until their shoulders are touching. "I'm really tired," Ryan says. He gives Spencer big, mournful eyes, and then yawns, loud and exaggerated. It's totally dickish, but it's also so Ryan that Spencer can't help snickering. The laughter bubbles up in his chest. Spencer feels good and he feels weird, and yeah, maybe Ryan's right. Sleeping sounds good right about now.

"You're a dick," Spencer says, because he can't help himself. "I'm locking my window from now on."

"You wouldn't," Ryan mumbles. "You love me."

"Yeah," Spencer says. "Yeah, something like that." He tips his head back, and stares at the ceiling. He'd taken most of his glow-in-the-dark constellations down, but there's still a few scattered around his room, shining weakly with a pale greenish light.

Ryan breathes warm and familiar next to his ear, and Spencer closes his eyes.


End file.
